


One More

by CrossThyBorder



Category: God of War (Video Games)
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Atreus is confused on how to identify himself, Canon Universe, Dark Magic, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Mostly from lack of childhood attention, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 00:04:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15424602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrossThyBorder/pseuds/CrossThyBorder
Summary: At seventeen years old, Atreus navigates through murky waters, not the least of which is wanting to kiss his father while dancing with temptations of a darker force.





	One More

**Author's Note:**

> There are spoilers for the end of the game.

    It started with an innocent kiss.

Atreus wanted to start small, wanting to test the waters. He has an _ocean_ worth of things he'd like to do with his father, and recently those things involve more physical affections. It used to be that his mother had given him all the hugs and kisses he'd ever need, more than enough to compensate for his father's absence, and he was wholly content. He was happy to cuddle with his mother by the fire every night and listen to her regale glorious tales of myth and legend.

Then she died abruptly from a sickness with no cure, leaving him alone with a distant father who had rarely acknowledged his existence up until that point.

Even through death his mother had a plan.

In pursuit of carrying his mother's ashes to the highest peak in all the nine realms, father had lead him to an epic and otherworldly adventure that had literally upended everything he thought he knew about his life.

No longer was he just a young boy learning to hunt deer and boar in the woods, but a boy with the blood of a god and a giant. He has the power to do good and fight the evil machinations of the Aesir. With his father at his side as well as the aid of legendary companions they were able to complete their journey.

Their actions however had other consequences that brings the ever encroaching day of _Ragnarok_ closer, or so it is prophesied.

After they had triumphed in their quest, mother's ashes scattered in the tallest mountain of Jötunheim, things fell into peace for awhile. His father had agreed upon his advanced training, mostly of the ancient knowledge under Mimir's guidance, rather than focusing in combat. Sometimes though he'll miss the taut stretch of his bowstring in his fingertips, the powerful thrum of ljósta and þruma coursing through the arrows, and Kratos will allow him to hone his fighting skills in the trials at Muspelheim alone.

It has been six winters since the day mother had died. He is now seventeen years old, a full fledged man. How gravely he missed her, sometimes it would be unbearable in the cover of night when sleep is scarce and fraught with hyper-realistic nightmares. He has done his best to cover most of his emotions, schooling his expressions into a calm and stoic manner that pleases his father, attesting to his own nature. He is rare to outburst, however he cannot hide the sadness that lingers in his heart.

It does not help that sometimes his dreams foretell a future where his father is gone too, not dead, no, but off into some distant and foreign land that he never speaks of. Being a hybrid of a god and a giant, he thought he could have a better grasp of his father's character, but alas, he is a god too of a different sort. Kratos remains to be ever elusive, even in his approvals of his exponential growth in prowess.

His job now is being a highly regarded linguist in all languages of the realms, not only that but as an archaeologist to lost languages as well. He takes great pride in it, and he gets to explore parts of the realms that's rarely been touched. For a while his father had accompanied him in his scholarly pursuits, insisting that he kept him safe from danger, however he had quickly shown him that he was more than capable of venturing out on his own.

It gave him time for himself—to learn, to contemplate, to _reflect_.

He had learned a lot just by attuning his ears and listening to the spirits around him. The more he grows up the further he taps into his innate powers. He could connect into animals like never before, and he finds himself favoring certain companions like wolves and horses. Whenever he was in a bit of a bind he could always trust in their aid.

Wherever far-flung lands he steps in there is only one he calls home, and that is with his father in their sanctuary at Midgard. There he shall stay.

He only hopes his father does the same.

Maybe in his desperation to keep his father by his side, he did what he did that day.

Kissing Kratos right on his lips as he held him in his strong arms.

He had never thought of it before... Not in anyway that leads to the actual action. It was the truth that he was touch-starved, affection-starved. Whilst their bond had strengthened gradually, their path rarely merges for a prolonged amount of time, save for the precious little moments they have in their home. Even just to see his father sleep in the bed besides him was a comfort.

He just felt that he _needed_ to kiss his father, to affirm that he would stay and not run away.

That night he had gone to bed alone in their house and it was wrapped in suffocating silence. Father didn't even tell him that he'll be off hunting when he departed to Alfheim that morning, usually he'd tell him where he'll go and how long he'll be gone for, so imagine his utter dismay when he did not saw Kratos in their home. His initial reaction was to breathe deeply and place his trust in his father. Something urgent may have come up, or he had been caught up in a drawn-out hunt.

His father never displays any excess power and exerts only what is needed to efficiently kill in his hunt. It seemed he was intent in living a more placid life: hunting animals and building anything of use to pass time.

Sometimes though Atreus has a feeling that his father struggles with this _peace_. Winter has grown colder, and they have both been vigilant, always ready for anyone who comes at their doorstep and announce danger.

Atreus had managed to sleep without his father's usual presence, however his consciousness was riddled with visions of Kratos leaving, his back turned to him, and he was crossing some sort of portal that he did not recognize. He tried to reach out to him, crying out for him, but then Kratos vanishes completely along with the portal, only darkness remaining. He could not follow his father and he was left all alone.

He woke up with a start, sobbing and shaking like he had as a child, his hands outstretched towards a phantom Kratos.

The door opened with a bang and in comes his father. He rushed to his side quickly, flecks of snow trailing behind him and his boots stomping heavily. Kratos held him in his arms. Atreus is still shaking and he clings to his father, breathing in his frosty, earthen scent.

"What happened, boy? What did you see in your dreams?"

"I-I, I envisioned you leaving, and you were going to a portal. You disappeared, even when I was begging for you to come back! Then there was nothing and I was by myself... It's not the first time I've had dreams like this." Atreus looked down, wiping his tears away. It had never felt this worse before, never this real.

"And you did not tell me." Kratos held him by the shoulders.

"I didn't think they were important..." _Lies._ What he fears the most is losing Kratos.

"That does not seem to be the case."

"It's just nightmares, you won't leave me. You won't leave me." Atreus embraced his father tightly, resting his head on his chest. This does not happen often enough, in fact he could count in his fingers the number of times they've embraced.

His heart raced as he felt his father actually reciprocate his action, placing a warm hand on his back.

"I won't leave you Atreus, you know this."

Kratos' baritone voice rumbled in his chest, against Atreus' ear, and the boy was so unaccustomed to the way Kratos was tentatively rubbing his back. The movements were stiff and heavy, but it was comfort, it was _there_. His spine tingled and he bit at his lip.

_The nightmare isn't real. Father is here._

"I know father, I just..." And he let his words trail off as he craned his neck, his chin brushing past the coarse bristles of his father's beard, and his lips gently closed the remaining distance between them.

It was surprising to him as it was, he was sure, for his father. If it did, Kratos never showed any sign of the fact. Atreus had his eyes closed yet he felt the intense stare of his father's eyes on him.

It was strange, strange that it only spurred his desperation more.

He pressed his lips harder to his father's—soft sliding against rough, and this time Kratos growled lowly.

" _Boy_ "

His father isn't pushing him away, but Kratos was tightly gripping his hips, urging him to. He lingered for a few more seconds and then pulled away, casting his gaze sideways so he did not meet his father's eyes.

It was the kind of silence that they could hear each individual snowflake fall atop their roof. Atreus could even faintly hear the howling of wolves in the far distance.

Kratos was the one who spoke up first. "What was that, boy?"

"Nothing. I just kissed you."

"That is not something you do."

"Well I do now."

" _Atreus_ " Kratos growled again. His father wasn't going to let him off without first explaining himself.

Atreus' managed to level his gaze to his father's—ice blue melting unto dark amber. He calmed his heart, taking a deep breath and attained his usual calm demeanor.

"I only want to be close to you father. I wasn't sure where you left, and after what I dreamt of I needed to kiss you. To know that you are there, and to-to feel you closely besides me—"

"Enough. You do not know what you do."

Atreus felt his heart plummet.

Kratos then stood up from his bed, never a slip of emotion leaving him, and lied down on his own bed without another word.

Atreus stared at the god's back for a time, until he lied back on his pillows, a million and one thoughts swarming in his head like a flock of ravens. He only focused on one thought:

He wants to kiss his father again.

 

〰 ❄ 〰

 

    It started with an innocent kiss.

Now, Atreus was making it a point to kiss his father whenever he could.

Not once did Kratos dissuaded him, but he remains rigid and tight-lipped as a marble statue whenever Atreus leans in for a kiss. He will let out a gruff noise occasionally, telling him to stop whenever he presses his body a little too excitedly against his father's, but never did he stopped him.

It meant the world to Atreus, and maybe that's the reason why his father had not stopped him as he should.

There will be little explosions of fire in his belly whenever their lips made contact, whenever he could feel his skin scratch against beard. He doesn't yet know what all these sensations mean, but it was good.

It became a habit. Every morning there would be a kiss before they would go and do their separate occupation, every night there would be a kiss before bed, and so on.

Atreus would pore over scrolls and stone tablets for hours on end and yet without rhyme or reason he'll suddenly think of his father and long for their daily kiss with a sigh.

Years without paternal affection were catching up and seizing him in a flurry of emotions.

Mimir had taken notice of his daydreaming of course, and decided to speak up about it one day.

"Y'know lad, something's been getting you all hot and bothered lately. Is it because you've finally found a lass for yerself? You have grown quite well, and are a right bachelor. I've seen with my own eyes how some of the light elves look at you." Mimir suggestively wiggles his eyebrows, and Atreus couldn't help the blush from coloring his cheeks.

Has he really been that obvious with his emotions? Then again Mimir is well, Mimir, and has been his teacher and constant companion. Nothing slips by his radar.

"I don't know what you're talking about Mimir. The light elves are just probably being nice, or something." Atreus have little need of deciphering the light elves' social cues.

" _Nice?_ Lad, I meant that they look at you in a purely _sexual_ way."

Atreus' eyes widened and his blush deepened throughout his neck and ears. “ _What?_ "

Mimir merely laughed at his reaction and then seriously looked at the boy. "Tell me that you at least know how babies are made for crying out loud, or do I have to bear the burden of explainin'—"

"Yes, yes I know that much!" Atreus cupped Mimir's mouth, thankful that they were alone in the study temple.

"Ok lad, ok. We can get it out of the way that there is absolutely no woman in yer life."

Atreus just glared at the head. "So what if I don't? I'm not interested in any."

"Ah-ha! That therein lies the problem!" Declared the wise head.

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean that the one you've been pining for isn't a woman but a _man!_ " Mimir looked downright chipper at his conclusion, grinning at the boy with an all-knowing look. "Fret not laddy! It isn't the most traditional per se, but there has been many, _many_ instances when gods and giants alike have had consorts and affairs with the same sex. You are definitely not the first to have such inclination."

Atreus couldn't agree nor disagree completely. He only have feelings for his father, the only one in his entire life. No other being, regardless of sex, has him longing or wanting like this.

"Well, he is a man."

"Aye, and so it is." Mimir sagely nods to himself as if he'd known all along.

"A god. A powerful one." At this point there is little to hide anything to his teacher.

" _A god?!_ Which one? Oh dear lad!" Mimir looked like he had a heart attack, which of course he didn't.

"Not anyone you're thinking of, Mimir. Nope, definitely not." Atreus wrinkled his nose at the thought. Baldur and the rest of his ilk had darkened his views on the existing gods.

He vows to be a better one. A good and benevolent god like Týr was.

"So who could it possibly be? If not from here then an outsider like your father?"

It was alarming how fast Mimir is catching on, but it is to be expected for one who counselled Odin himself.

Atreus nods and just doesn't speak further about it.

He could admit to liking his own father to Mimir, but he isn't sure how that will fare well with him. It's best to keep it private as much as he could. He's already said too much.

"This is interesting m'son, very interesting."

 

〰 ❄ 〰

 

    Atreus practically leapt to Kratos' arms once he got back home.

After his little talk with Mimir the head had found a new pastime of listing various foreign gods to him while he was trying to translate a rune written in a dialect of the Jötnar.

He kept his grounds of not telling who it was that's captured his heart despite Mimir's best attempt at persuasion. He just barely managed to finish transcribing all the runes for the day.

"Father!"

Kratos was hauling more wood by his shoulder when Atreus came sprinting to him at full speed. The god had no problem balancing the boy with only one arm while he carried the tall tree trunk with the other.

"How was your day?" Kratos asked. He easily dropped the tree by the log pile, and Atreus swiftly swung his legs around his father's waist.

"Exciting, but I still need to work on my Jötunn accent."

Kratos grunted for an answer and didn't question when Atreus moved his lips to his neck, kissing him there and breathing in his scent of the wild woods.

"Father, all I could think of the whole day was going back home and being with you."

Atreus shivered, the bitter bite of frost beginning to wrack his bones. Kratos shifted his son more comfortably in his arms and carried him to their cabin.

"You're home."

" _Mm_ "

There was a hot pot of goulash stewing by the fire and Atreus' stomach rumbled at the delicious smell. He also felt a nostalgic pang in his heart. Every time he eats the stew he's reminded of his mother and how she'll always give him more when he pleads for a third or fourth serving. She'll be proud to know that he's a healthy man now, taller, stronger, and a little wiser.

He slid off his father, regrettably, and washed his hands with soap and water in the bowl. Kratos followed suit, and they were sitting around the fire, ripping chunks of bread and dipping them in the warm, hearty stew.  
  
They made small talk of their day. Kratos told him that there has been more draugr in the eastern front of their woods. On the wake of Baldur's death the past winters has become increasingly worse, bringing along with it an unnatural disturbance in the passing of souls.

Atreus has high suspicions that Freya was causing the constant rifts in their protection stave, but the goddess hasn't made herself known ever since she vowed to rain curses over them. He supposes that they should be more thankful that the whole woods and their home hasn't been burned down by her wrath. She can try.

In his heart he still hopes that the goddess will realize that saving her life had been the better decision. Baldur's vengeance had already taken his life, but Freya's love still shined in hers. The mother will weep, but at least the goddess lives on.

Once they were ready for bed, Atreus looks up to his father with expectant eyes. Kratos stands still by his bed, the fire casting a glow upon his hardened features. He was the one to initiate, never his father. He didn't think the god's aloof nature will just change overnight.

Atreus didn't close his eyes before leaning in like he usually does. He met the cool, amber gaze through a half-lidded view and tilted his mouth to better slot it against his father's lips. Then he closed his eyes.

He wanted to feel his father more. The conversation with Mimir earlier had woken his feelings into a realization. While others will want for him and desire him the only one who can have him is his father—the only one who can even remotely ignite a spark within him.

His tongue darts out from parted lips and runs along the seam of Kratos' lips, asking for him to open up. It was the first time he's taking it this far, and the loud beating of his heart resonated between their bodies.

Kratos abruptly separated from their kiss with a gruff exhale. He didn't realize his father had been holding his breath the entire time.

"Atreus"

There wasn't any edge to his father's voice, like he wasn't surprised at all at the current turn of his desires, but still hesitant to let it be _more_.

Instead of letting things fall flat from there, the young god showed to the older just exactly what it is he wants.

Atreus delves his tongue into his father's mouth, taking advantage of his interruption. The inside was _hot_ , enveloping his tongue and lips with mind-melting heat which quickly floods throughout his whole body. He was not prepared for the level of intensity at all, and his knees wobbled like jelly. Kratos supported him up by the waist, and the boy leaned unto his father.

Perhaps the thing that really made his mind turn to mush was the fact that Kratos has _deepened_ their kiss whilst his hands grip tightly around him. He couldn't hold back the moan that rumbled from his throat, the pressure dizzying.

"F-Father..."

It was too much, and yet his tongue swirled intimately with the god's, almost melding together in the heat. He didn't care that dribbles of his own saliva ran from the corner of his lips, too engrossed in their contact, for more of it.

The roughness of Kratos' beard rubbing against his skin only added to the pleasurable fire consuming him, bridged through their lips and tongue.

His father had never turned him down. He realize that maybe it is because— _he hopes it to be true_ —Kratos had wanted for him just the same. It seems like it now.

He knows what he wants.

His arms were circled around the older god's neck, needy and clinging, and a gust of precious air suddenly left his mouth as his father pushed him hard against the wall. Their lips clashed violently and his teeth scraped through Kratos' lips, drawing a small nick of blood. The fire in the pit could have died down and not father and son would have noticed.

"Atreus, this isn't something you should want." Kratos roughly whispers, and the boy only touches his lips, healing the small wound with a gentle swipe of his thumb.

"But it is so father." He truthfully replies.

"Have you kissed another?" His father asks, his hands pinning him by his hips.

"Besides you? No, and nor do I have the intention to."

Kratos seemed pleased with his answer and he kisses the boy tenderly on the lips, the first time he has done so of his own accord. It cooled the burning within his body, replacing it with a child-like joy at finally having his father's attention.

"I am glad." There was a hint of possession in the Kratos' voice that made his stomach flip.

There was little to worry for the god. The boy was his.

 

〰 ❄ 〰

 

    Sometimes when they row their canoe across the Lake of Nine, fishing or collecting valuable resources that magically floats up, they dock upon the shores and check to see the new rifts that tear up.

Atreus' senses has grown sharper and keener. He could detect the disturbances just from the slightest vibrations in what he visualizes as a _web_ , interwoven amongst all things. Realm tears changes the pitch in the natural harmony, and they were easy enough to isolate and seek. When he tried to explain this to his father, Kratos had just grunted and nodded his head, obviously not following his innate ability. He did however made sure to compliment his skills and put it to good use.

Tears meant more openings for trouble, and so they make it their mission to guard the Lake and keep peace in the region for as much as possible.

It also most definitely was not because Atreus had grown to be a custodian of sorts to Jörmungandr, the World Serpent... Nope, definitely not. Ever since he'd called for his aid during the final battle with Baldur (in the serpent's mother tongue, no less) he's forged a more personal bond with the creature.

For a while, Jörmungandr had disappeared from his usual perch around the Lake of Nine, most likely to recuperate after sustaining injuries inflicted by the "invulnerable" god. It had worried the boy so much he chanced to blow the horn three times so he could see him again. Finally, after three days the serpent did reappear while Atreus had been camping by his lonesome, waiting patiently for the creature. He woke up with a gentle nudge from Jörmungandr, which accurately translated to a mini earthquake that shuddered Týr's temple.

The boy could finally relax once he adequately checked the wellbeing of the serpent. They had a lot to talk about, and time had slipped by so quickly before he noticed Kratos standing below the platform, listening to them interestedly. He looked impressed.

Ever since then his fluency in the ancient tongue had reached near-perfection in a matter of days, and surprisingly enough Jörmungandr is actually really chatty and sentimental. And with Mimir tagging along conversations were a golden opportunity ripe with invaluable lessons and tales. In turn he checks over the serpent's health whenever he can—is he eating alright ( _what do you actually eat?_ ), getting rid of accidental troll ingestions and so forth—almost like a doting brother, or mother.

"We're getting nearer."

Currently, Atreus was leading his father to a cove along the Lake's shore in the southwest rim near the Jötunheim tower. He had detected an irregular presence there, his suspicions confirmed when he had asked Jörmungandr about it this morning.

They docked by the sand, almost frozen solid at this point, and Atreus hopped off the boat. He walked ahead towards the source of the disturbance, and Kratos followed suit, the solid weight of his quiver a comfort.

"This place wasn't here before." Comments his father.

"Yeah, Jör told me to investigate it. He said that there's something _here_." He doesn't have the vaguest notion of what it is.

They make their way through a cave entrance, and the usual sound of hammer hitting iron and steel isn't to be heard anywhere. It would seem not even Brok and Sindri has slipped here yet. It was a good thing they kept their weapons sharp and well-maintained on their own.

A little past the entrance their path was abruptly halted by a solid stone wall, literally.

Kratos grunts underneath his breath as he unhooks the Leviathan and scans the premises for any triggers to work out. Atreus has his right palm spread across the stone, feeling for the slightest thrum of magic. None as far as he could detect—it felt just like any cold, hard stone.

He bit his lip, trying to think of any information that would be useful in hidden passages, and at that moment father threw the axe right at the center of the wall. He expected the axe to bounce back, but instead it actually sunk in.

"Whoa!"

The wall split unto a thousand glowing fissures upon impact, carving a set of runes that he quickly wrote down in his deerskin journal.

"What does it say?" Kratos asks, looking mildly awed. He probably didn't expect his plan to have worked either.

"Hold on, it says _'this place is preserved in memory; for my love and my blood, through my steel.'_ " Atreus touched the wall again, tracing the diverging lines with his fingers. The runes had been written in a Jötnar dialect he'd only recently mastered.

"Well? It does not open." His father states bluntly.

"Wait, it's also a map of the stars... This is the constellation of Draco, Cepheus, and right here is Ursa Minor!" His pointer finger followed the path of each constellation, and right at Polaris, the North Star, was a hollowed out point that seemed to indicate a keyhole.

"Interesting..." The boy began to murmur by himself. Kratos stepped up besides his son and looked more closely to the intricacies displayed throughout the wall. Something seemed to dawn in him.

"Your mother said that she followed the North Star one day when she was on a hunt and had gotten lost. She wanted the white fur of a fox as a present to a friend, but in her haste the fox easily escaped. She tracked the fox for hours and soon she could not recognize where she was. Then she looked up in the sky, guided by the North Star, and found her way back home."

Atreus halted all his thoughts, listening attentively to his father with his eyes sparkling. It was not every day or every season for that matter that the older god has a story to say about his mother. He understood that his father grieved on his own, and that to him silence is a reverence. Atreus wouldn't understand why until he had matured a little more. Silence is to focus, to contemplate, to remember.

"You think that this might be mother's message to us?" Atreus felt his mouth dry, his heart drumming faster in expectance. His father simply nods his head, placing his hand that swallows his own atop the point of Polaris.

"Your pendant. Place it right here." And everything clicked inside his head. He took off his pendant, forged from the steel of his mother's knife, and did what his father instructed.

Once it was inserted within, each fissure began to converge to the center of the North Star, causing a powerful beam of light to erupt and split the wall open.

" _Wow_ "

It was unlike anything he'd seen before.

There was a whole secluded ecosystem inside the cave, the land lush with flora so vibrant and unique he couldn't help the squeal of delight from tumbling down his lips. Atreus ran towards a tree and picked an apple from it, almost tempted to take a bite had his father not swipe it from his hand.

"You don't know what it is. It might be poisonous." The apple rolled off to the verdant grass.

But how can anything be poisonous in such a place of beauty? In a place that mother had meant for them to find?

The water from the underground spring was a beautiful crystal blue, cascading down the rocky cliffs in a series of waterfalls. Atreus took off his boots and woolen socks to splash his feet upon the water. There was not a touch of Fimbulwinter's grasp within the cave, which was magic in itself. Spring seemed eternal here, the temperature warm and mild.

"This place is not natural." Kratos watched his son closely, happily getting soaked in the stream.

"It's perfect father! This is mother's garden!" Atreus spread his arms wide and took in a deep breath. His lungs were filled with sweet and fresh temperate air.

"Your mother's garden is the woods near our home." Kratos shook his head.

"No father, _this_ is mother's garden in Jötunheim. I am sure of it." He feels the vibrations surrounding him like a soft blanket, like an embrace.

The god stared at the boy incredulously before giving a thorough look around the place. Certain wildflowers and herbs looked familiar, sprinkled here and there in the backwoods, but the majority was not found anywhere else in Midgard, such as the orange, yellow-spotted mushroom that towered a few feet tall.

"Mother told me that she had a special place that she kept. A place that was very close to her. Somehow she has projected her memories of her home in Jötunheim here, sort of like a rift in between realms." His mother had not only been a powerful warrior, but a powerful wielder of magic as well—she never fails to amaze in living and in death.

Atreus grabbed his father's hands and pulled him into the waters with him. He playfully scooped up water in his palms and splashed it across his father's sculpted chest, failing to contain his giggles.

This place felt like home away from home. A home that wasn't ravaged by snow storms and draugr threats. This could be their own slice of heaven, unknown to any other. She must have preserved it here so he could see a part of Jötunheim that was not ravaged by the Aesir, preserving a part of who he is.

He felt it down to his blood, his mother's presence here: loving, warm, and breathtaking.

Kratos stood there and let his son have his fun, more so to take in his elation, his excitement. He hasn't seen him in such high spirits since Faye had been alive.

They needed this.

"Father, are you happy here?" The boy looked down on his toes beneath the crystal waters, his shoulders beginning to slump. Kratos hasn't moved an inch, his face set like stone, and Atreus thought he must not be too pleased.  
  
_Are you content here in Midgard? Are you going to stay here with me?_

He feels stupid asking the same question, having the same fears all the time.

"I am, why do you think otherwise?" His father steps closer, their chests pressing against each other, and looks down in his eyes. He couldn't help the blush from sprinkling along his freckles and scars. His father had always been the epitome of physical strength, at times overwhelming, but for him it was just right. It is home.

"Okay, it's just..." _You're not exactly an open book._ "Smile more? We are in a really cool garden from mother's memories after all." Atreus pulls the corner of his father's lips in a strained upward curve, barely constituting what one would consider a smile. He chortles and decides his father would definitely scare babies with that look, heck even a troll!

Kratos didn't say anything although amusement clearly glimmered within his eyes. His father bent down slowly, hand skimming the surface of the stream, and the next thing he knew a great splash of water came over him. The boy stood still for a second, thoroughly drenched to the bone yet having the biggest grin on his face.

"Oh, you're _soo_ going to get it!"

An all out water fight ensued between father and son, quickly escalating from mild and playful splashes to waves that ripped them apart in the churning current. A bellowing and tinkling laughter echoed and intermingled together amidst the chaos. It was perfect.

They hadn't let loose like this in forever, not with the grind of the day-to-day survival, the cold that clings to the flesh, the looming end of days that hovers above their heads... Sure Atreus gets to leave on his quests in the other worlds, attain bouts of solitude and peace, but it's not permanent, it's not where he belongs. At times he finds himself lost within the wild forests, one time he followed a pack of wolves and they welcomed him as his own, in turn he offered them his deer. He stayed with them for a week, and by the end of it he was barely recognizable. His face had elongated, his nose formed into a snout, and he had a slick, gray fur coating every inch of his skin. He had fun being a part of a large pack—they were great, plus he befriended one wolf pup in particular that always nipped and chased after him playfully—but his heart strongly yearned for his father; each day that passed only intensified the fact. When he got back Kratos didn't even blink when his son came back a little more wolf than boy, wet and shivering from an icy downpour. He stoked the fire, gave him a blanket thick with his scent, and asked him how he learned to shapeshift.

He always comes back because his father is there.

Atreus couldn't fight the strong pull of the current—caused by a stroke of his father's arms—and washes up on the bank, the tides descending upon him. Not a second later his father breaks through the curtain of water and has him pinned down on the grass.

"I yield, you won." The boy glistens under the bright light centered at the open ceiling of the cave—his smile is even more dazzling. The water sloshes at their torso and evens out as the lake turns placid once again from their enthusiastic power display.

For two heartbeats they just stare at each other, and Atreus so desperately wants to kiss his father, frost blue eyes flicking downwards to lips. He leans up but Kratos pushes him back at his shoulders

"You're wet." Kratos states simply.

"Well yeah you too, obviously." The boy's eyes are like drops of aquamarine crystal, wide and unassuming despite the humor coloring his tone. Thick, calloused fingers splay across the freckled and scarred skin.

Atreus lowers his gaze, avoiding the heated coals of his father's eyes and also using the chance to appreciate the musculature beneath his palms, trails of water dripping along its cut path. The god must have been built from stone. He couldn't begin to imagine him being small and bloodied, pushed from the clutch of a woman's womb. The image just wasn't something he could wrap his head around, although his father had to be younger once ages ago.

Mother had told him how she had given birth to him, how there hadn't been any pain at all—just unbridled happiness at finally holding the proof of the life she nurtured for three seasons. At the time he asked what his father had thought about him once he entered the world, and Faye must have sensed the apprehension in his question. They had been weaving baskets to keep and to sell for when the traveling caravans pass through the woods.

"You're father cleaned you up and wrapped you in the finest silk fabric from the far east—white with gold and crimson trimmings. Said he managed to hunt enough furs and traded them for it with the merchants. He had stood there and held you, just as quite as he ever was, but his eyes told a different story. He loves you just as much as I do, although we show it in different ways."

Atreus almost snapped the pine straw betwixt his fingers, holding fast at the rapid images forming in his head where his father _holds_ him in his arms and bundles him in fine silk like he was a treasure to behold. His heart swelled at his mother's words and he promptly asked her where his baby blanket was. She told him she kept it safe in the small chest atop her drawer, along with other precious family memorabilia.

That night he held the tiny blanket by his heart as he fell asleep, replaying the images of his father holding him over and over. _His treasure._

 

〰 ❄ 〰

 

    "Let's get these clothes off and hang them to dry."

Atreus slowly nods his head, suddenly thinking that the older god rarely has to trouble himself from taking off a tunic, a coat, or a full set of armor. The wide swaths of red on ivory skin has always fascinated him. _What did they mean? How were they procured? Can he get one too?_ Instead of opening his mouth to voice his questions he gasps instead as Kratos himself undo the clasps of his red fox coat, soaked down along with his chainmail and grey tunic underneath. He lifts all of his upper garments off, and by the time his lean torso was bare he's pretty sure his whole body is redder and hotter than the molten lava of Muspelheim.

He wanted to say something but his words are stuck in his windpipe, he barely breathes. His father's hands trails through his exposed skin, exploratory, shedding new sensations that prickles at the touch. He's hopelessly sensitive and he moans out as Kratos brushes a broad thumb through his nipple. The sharp, aroused sound jerks the older god from what seemed like a self-induced trance and he pulls his hands away, gripping instead at the drenched clothing he'd peeled off his son.

"Fetch some kindling while I gather wood for our fire." Kratos voice is more hoarse than usual, rocks scraping ground.  
  
Atreus' mind and body was still buzzing with heat, yet he quickly rose to his feet and followed his father's command.

_What just happened?_

When they kiss it feels good, like he was cashing in on Kratos' debt for all those years he's deprived him, and recently it's turned more passionate, heavy. He's fully aware of what he's doing—what _they_ are doing.

He wants more.

Atreus didn't have to go too far to gather some sticks and branches but he decides to use the time to cool off and explore a bit further on his own.

He almost feels guilty. Weren't they doing something illicit in his own mother's garden? Would she disapprove of this newfound closeness with his father? Even if it's something that makes him happy unlike anything else, makes all the loneliness of losing her less consuming...

He bent down the stream, watches a school of small, luminescent fishes swimming underneath the water before focusing on his own reflection. His rustic red hair had grown longer and a touch unruly on his left side while he kept the right side trimmed shorter and braided closely to his scalp. He touched the surface of the water, casting a ripple on his reflection, and closed his eyes.

Almost anything in anywhere gives off some form of energy, even the dead who's yet to find rest, distorted and unnatural as it is. In comparison life simply _bristles_ with pure, untapped energy, requiring an exorbitant amount of it to continue existing.

If one is able to manipulate said energy...

" _Laguz, laguz, laguz..._ " His lips forms the succeeding phonemes and syllables of the runic chant.

The crackle of seiðr magic seeps the surrounding water into a brackish black. A trout floats lifelessly into his downturned palm.

It's exhausting to draw on magic needed to drain energy from another life, and he clearly requires more practice. He knows all the tales his mother has ever told him by heart, and of course all the cautionary lessons it came with it.

Witches selling bits of their souls for magic—losing more and more of their life until they are practically unrecognizable. They become dark seiðr creatures, what him and his father know as Revenants. It's what happens when a mortal gets drunk with power and are unable to truly harness energy. Atreus is part god and giant, something his mother had failed to mention to him while telling tales of distant lands and creatures that were actually much, much closer to him.

The ability to wield magic flows through him like air, attracted to him just by blood alone.

Or at least it does, but...

The trout gurgles back to life and it slips past his fingers to hastily swim back in the watery depths. He stands up in frustration and curses in three different languages. He had lost focus, let the transfer of energy to reverse because of it. If he can't even catch one fish how can he ever hope to face the likes of Freya and Thor?

He could catch it again, make it truly dead, but then Kratos is summoning for him to return to camp. His father's booming voice is carried by the wind, magnifying it and making the golden leaves shake from the branches. It snaps him out of his anger, lets the flurry of chants disintegrate in his lips before turning heel and heading back.

 

〰 ❄ 〰

 

    When he returns, Kratos already has the campfire burning along with skewers of trout roasting in wild leaves. His measly errand had been nothing but a means of brief separation.

His clothes were set upon a log, completely dry and warmer than normal—father must have made sure of it.

They eat their meal in silence, much of the excitement from earlier having dwindled down to smoke. He tears at the juicy flesh of the trout with a little more aggression than what's called for and Kratos gives him a stern, inquiring look. He knows he's been taught manners better than what he's displaying.

"What's the matter, boy?"

Atreus blinks and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"What are we going to do now?"

The question was directed more to himself.

"What we have always done. Survive."

"Yeah... We can just stay in here until Fimbulwinter passes, let the gods fight whatever battles they want while we hide away." He holds false conviction in his own words, and neither god were persuaded. It isn't right.

Mother for sure would never have backed down from protecting their home, protecting Midgard at any cost.

This is an illusion—this haven.

Kratos makes no further comment, and Atreus stretches his limbs as he tosses the stick to the fire.

"For now we relax." When he closes his eyes it almost feels like he's truly in Jötunheim. The air sweet with spring flowers and fruits, the breeze gently caressing his face.

The lifeless trout hovers above the black water.

**Author's Note:**

> First GoW I've played (that I finished) and I immediately fell for the dad vibes, cute ass Atreus, Norse mythology, and the Leviathan axe (seriously best weapon). I worked on this immediately after I finished the game because I'm hopeless and love a good incest sundae with cherry on top.


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